Kim nodded and set off, threading his way between the machines. Returning, he took another, different path through the machines, imagining himself a spider moving swiftly along the spokes of his web. He was halfway back when he realized he had made a mistake. Chan Shui lay directly ahead of him, but between them stood Janko, beside his machine, a cruel smile on his face "Going somewhere, rat's ass?" He stepped out, blocking Kim's way.
Kim slipped the vial into the top pocket of his scholar's robe, then looked about him. One of the big collection trays had moved along the main gangway and now barred his way back, while to the left and right of him stacks of freshly manufactured furniture filled the side gangways.
He looked back at Janko, unafraid, concerned only not to break the vial. If he did there would be a fine of a day's wages for both him and Chan Shui. For himself he didn't mind. But for Chan Shui...
"What do you want, Janko?"
Janko turned, facing Chan Shui's challenge. "It's none of your business, Han! Stay out of this!"
Chan Shui just laughed. "None of my business, eh? Is that so, you great bag of putrid rice? Why should you think that?"
Surprisingly Janko ignored the insult. He turned his back on Chan Shui, then faced Kim again. His voice barked out. "Come here, you little rat's ass. Come here and kneel!"
Kim bent his knees slightly, tensing, preparing to run if necessary, but there was no need. Chan Shui had moved forward quickly, silently, and had jumped up onto Janko's back, sending him sprawling forward.
Kim moved back sharply.
Janko bellowed and made to get up, but Chan Shui pulled his arm up tightly behind his back and began to press down on it, threatening to break it.
"Now, just leave him alone, Janko. Because next time I will break your arm. And we'll blame it on one of the machines."
He gave one last, pain-inducing little push against the arm, then let Janko go, getting up off him.
Janko sat up, red faced, muttering under his breath.
Chan Shui held out his arm. "Come on, Kim. He won't touch you, I promise."
But even as Kim made to pass Janko, Janko lashed out, trying to trip him, then scrambled to his feet quickly, facing Chan Shui.
"Try it to my face, chink."
Chan Shui laughed. "Your verbal inventiveness astonishes me, Janko. Where did you learn your English, in the singsong house where your mother worked?"
Janko roared angrily and rushed at Chan Shui. But the young Han had stepped aside, and when Janko turned awkwardly, flailing out with one arm, Chan Shui caught the arm and twisted, using Janko's weight to lift and throw him against the machine.
Janko banged against the control panel, winding himself, then turned his head, frightened, as the machine reared up over him.
The watching boys laughed, then fell silent. But Janko had heard the laughter. He looked down, wiping his bloodied mouth, then swore under his breath.
At that moment the door at the far end of the Casting Shop slid open and Supervisor Nung came out. As he came down the gangway he seemed distracted, his eyes unfocused. Coming closer he paused, smiling at Kim as if remembering something. "Is everything okay, Chan Shui?" he asked, seeming not to see Janko laid there against the machine.
Chan Shui bowed his head, suppressing a smile. "Everything is fine, Supervisor Nung."
"Good." Nung moved on.
Back at their machine Kim questioned him about the incident. "Is Nung okay? He seemed odd."
Chan Shui laughed briefly, then shook his head. "Now, there's a man who'll be his own ruin." He looked at Kim. "Supervisor Nung has a habit. Do you understand me, Kim?"
Kim shook his head.
"He takes drugs. Harmless, mainly, but I think he's getting deeper. These last few weeks . . . Anyway, hand me that vial."
Kim passed him the vial, then looked across, letting his eyes rest briefly on Janko's back.
"By the way, thanks for what you did, Shui. I appreciate it. But really, it wasn't necessary. I'm quick. Quicker than you think. He'd never have caught me."
Chan Shui smiled, then looked up at him again, more thoughtful than before. "Maybe. But I'd rather be certain. Janko's a bit of a head case. He doesn't know quite when to stop. I'd rather he didn't get near you, Kim. Okay?"
Kim smiled and looked down. He felt a warmth like fire in his chest. "Okay."
"Is everything all right?"
Kim looked up from his desk console and nodded. "I'm a little tired, that's all, T'ai Cho."
"Is the work too much for you, then?"
Kim smiled. "No, T'ai Cho. I've had a few restless nights, that's all."
"Ah." That was unusual. T'ai Cho studied the boy a moment. He was a handsome boy now that the feral emaciation of the Clay had gone from his face. A good diet had worked wonders, but it could not undo the damage of those earliest years. T'ai Cho smiled and looked back down at the screen in front of him. What might Kim have been with a proper diet as an infant? With the right food and proper encouragement? T'ai Cho shuddered to think.
T'ai Cho looked up again. "We'll leave it for now, eh, Kim.7 A tired brain is a forgetful brain." He winked. "Even in your case. Go and have a swim. Then get to bed early. We'll take this up again tomorrow."
When Kim had gone, he sat there, thinking about the last week. Kim seemed to have settled remarkably well into the routine of the Casting Shop. Supervisor Nung was pleased with him, and Kim himself was uncomplaining. Yet something worried T'ai Cho. There was something happening in Kim—something deep down that perhaps even Kim himself hadn't recognized as yet. And now this. This sleeplessness. Well, he would watch Kim more closely for the next few days and try to fathom what it was.
He got up and went across to Kim's desk, then activated the memory. At once the screen lit up.
T'ai Cho laughed, surprised. Kim had been doodling. He had drawn a web in the center of the screen. A fine, delicate web from which hung a single thread which dropped off the bottom of the screen.
He scrolled the screen down, then laughed again. "And here's the spider!"
But then he leaned closer and, adjusting the controls, magnified the image until the spider's features filled the screen: the familiar, dark-eyed features of a child.
T'ai Cho frowned, then switched the machine off. He stood there a moment, deep in thought, then nodded to himself. Yes. He would watch him. Watch him very carefully indeed.
KIM FLOATED on his back in the water, his eyes closed. He had been thinking of Chung Kuo, and of the people he had met in the Above. What had any of them in common? Birth, maybe. That and death, and perhaps a mild 'curiosity about the state between. He smiled. Yes, and that was it. That was what astonished him most of all. Their lack of curiosity. He had thought it would be different up here, in the Above. He had believed that simple distance from the Clay would bring enlightenment. But it was not so. There was a difference in them, yes, but that difference was mainly veneer. Scratch away that surface and they proved themselves every bit as dull, every bit as incuriously wedded to their senses, as the most pitiful creature of the Clay.
The smile had faded from his lips. Kim shuddered, then turned his body slowly in the water. The Clay. What was the Clay but a state of mind? An attitude?
That was the trouble with them all. They followed an idea only to a certain stage—pursued its thread only so far into the labyrinth—and then let it fall slack, as if satisfied there was no more to see, no more left to discover. Take the Aristotle file, for instance. They had been happy to see it only as a game he had devised to test his intellect and stretch himself. They had not looked beyond that. That single explanation was enough for them. But had they pushed it further—had they dealt with it, even hypothetically, as real, even for one moment—they would have seen at once where he had got it from. Even now they might wake to it. But he thought not. Their lack of curiosity would keep it from them.